Page 13

STEFANOS

W e were all exhausted after the gig last night. It was so loud we could barely hear ourselves think and while Alice and Mischa bopped together and threw smiles back and forth, Alexei and I hung on the wall nursing our beers until it was time to go home.

When we got back to the apartment, we both crashed straight away and now the sun is sneaking in around the drapes and I do not want to get up.

I hear Alexei using the bathroom before going into the kitchen and putting the blender on. I know I told him he can do that any time he likes, but geez, does he have to do it now? What time is it? I roll over to check my phone and, oh, it’s nine-thirty.

When I finally stumble out of bed, I find Alexei at the counter with his back turned in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, those weirdly attractive feet on display again.

He jumps when he hears me behind him.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you up did I? It’s just, I’ve gotta get to class and we’ve got a game tonight…”

“It’s fine, I was just being lazy.”

He turns back to the blender to pour his green goop out into a cup. “Crazy night huh?”

“Yeah.” I move over to the kitchen table, rubbing my eyes. “Do you think Mischa had a good time?”

“I think he’s so into your friend it’s pathetic, so yeah, I think he had a good time. Do you think she did?”

“Oh yeah, if she didn’t, you’d know about it.”

“So I guess they’ll be seeing each other again then?” Was that hope I heard? Or am I imagining things?

“I guess so.”

“Next time maybe tell them not to make us schlep our asses to Williamsburg for a date though yeah?”

Who says we’ll be going on their next date? And is this him telling me he’s willing to chaperone again? With me?

“Sure.”

After Alexei leaves, I login to Bookgeeks. There’s a message waiting from Kelsier38.

Kelsier38: Sorry your roommate’s an ass. Anyone who can be rude to you must have something seriously wrong with them, because you’re literally the nicest person on the planet.

My heart sinks a little. Yes, I want to be a nice person, but also, this is a guy I’ve exchanged sexy messages with, all be it, a very long time ago, so him thinking I’m ‘nice’ now is a bit of a downgrade.

Kelsier38: I haven’t really had time to read anything, have you?

I crack my knuckles and prepare myself for something bold. I’m single. I can say whatever I want to any guy I like now and I won’t be betraying Dorian. And actually, I can’t believe I ever worried about betraying Dorian when he was betraying me all along.

RedRum237: I noticed you haven’t been active in the MM romance group where we met? Don’t you read that stuff anymore?

Okay, so not the boldest of questions, but that forum was the place where we met. It was what told me beyond any shadow of a doubt what he was into. Those spicy scenes provided the backdrop for our own spicy conversations.

I don’t know what’s made me so intent on starting this side to our relationship up again. I guess living with a ridiculously hot hockey player who also happens to be straight is kind of frustrating.

And when I get in the shower before heading to the music department and find Alexei’s used bar of soap sitting out, next to his razor and his body wash, and a damp towel poking out of the hamper, I get a jolt of why it’s so frustrating.

When I was in a relationship with Dorian I got used to regular sex. Now it’s been weeks and I’ve barely even had the privacy to jerk off.

Now here I am, with the place to myself, and I’m surrounded by my hot, straight roommate’s things and the last thing I want to do is think about him when I do that.

I try to conjure Kelsier38’s body in those pictures he sent me, but the memory is a fickle thing. What I do remember is defined abs and powerful thighs. Two gold chains sitting on his sternum. A St. Christopher and a crucifix a lot like mine.

I remember a pronounced vein in his forearm, where it rested on his thigh in sweatpants. And the bulge in his groin area that told me Dorian was bullshitting when he said only porn stars have cocks over six inches.

I close my eyes and let my mind wander. My imagination filling in any of the blanks. Remembering how we’d talk about those scenes we read. How we said we wanted to do those things to each other.

I close my eyes as I wrap my hand around my cock. Abs, chest, shoulders, arms, thighs, bulge. Abs, chest, shoulders…

I come all over the tiles, mumbling something incoherent, and immediately panic that I’ve made a mess on Alexei’s things.

I rinse everything off, hoping he won’t notice I’ve probably put it all back in slightly different places, and get out. I can’t do that ever again.

I get to rehearsals a little late and Alice gives me daggers over the string and brass section. She probably wanted to dissect her date last night play-by-play and now she’ll have to wait at least an hour for Professor Lisette to be done with us.

Rehearsing is fine. I could rehearse every day of my life and I’d be happy. But if I think about what that rehearsing is leading up to, my palms start to sweat, and whatever I’m wearing starts to feel tight around my neck.

I focus on the feel of the instrument instead of my body. How familiar this particular violin is. The smell of the resin I use to polish the wood and the synthetic smell of the aluminum strings.

We rehearse Pachelbel’s Canon , and though it’s painfully overdone, I still like the piece.

It reminds me of the hours I’d spend in mine and Ari’s bedroom at my childhood home in Astoria, practicing for exams and recitals.

Mama listening in at the door. Baba bringing me food every five minutes when he got home from the restaurant.

Their pride every time I’d get something right.

Alice grabs me after class and pulls me out onto the path leading around the football field. The team are practicing. The sound of random shouting and a ball going doomft is weirdly soothing. She’s been talking since the second we stepped outside, but I’ve tuned out.

“Are you listening?” Alice tugs my arm.

“Of course I am. Mischa’s the best yada yada yada.”

She pinches me.

“I’m happy for you, honestly, he seems nice.”

“And Alexei is nice for coming with us.”

I ignore that. Ignore how hot my face feels. “And me?”

“Yes and you, so…”

I don’t like that tone.

“Wanna come to the hockey game tonight?”

“No way. I’ve got studying to do.”

She pulls on my arm, throwing a mini tantrum. “Oh come on Steffy.”

“Careful, your Verruca Salt’s showing.”

“Fuck you.” She laughs. “You’ve been to games with me before.”

“Yes, so I have proof of why I don’t want to go again. It’s loud and cold and crowded and you’ll be busy playing trumpet and won’t even speak to me anyway.”

“I know but Mischa’s gonna be there and I’ll be nervous.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?”

“Pleaaaaase?”

Oh come on, surely she’s doing it on purpose now?

But she is my best friend. And she took me in when I needed a place to stay. She cooks me comfort food and attempts to teach me languages, and skincare, it’s the least I can do. And after all, it’s just one hockey game.

“Fine.”

“Yay!” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek.

“But I’m not cheering for anyone, or eating a hot dog.”

“You don’t have to.”

“And if a puck hits me in the head, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

She makes a gesture of crossing her heart. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

I think the last sporting event I attended was a football game.

Alice dragged me to that one too. I remember the noise, the crush of the crowd and a general aura of testosterone.

But this is magnified because it’s enclosed.

The noise gets trapped within the walls.

The smell of bodies, beer and what I’m guessing to be some sort of chemical freezing treatment keeping the rink from turning to mush.

Alice is wearing a sweater with the college logo stitched across the chest. Her trumpet under her arm. She waves me over as soon as she sees me awkwardly trying to make my way through the stands.

Of course I look out of place. Everyone’s wearing hockey jerseys. A sea of orange and black. I’m wearing the duffel coat my mom bought me last winter and a pair of chinos and Converse.

“You look nice,” Alice says. There’s a hint of accusation there I try to ignore. I did not dress up for Alexei. He’s not even going to notice I’m here.

“Hope you brought your earplugs,” she says before the band strike up their first rendition of Seven Nation Army .

I’m expecting many more throughout the evening.

I put my earplugs in and enjoy watching Alice play with an earnest look on her face as if she’s at Carnegie Hall, not a college hockey game.

When the team skate out onto the ice, my heartrate soars. Fuck, why am I so nervous? Or is that excitement?

It takes me a moment to realize that the big guy with number 18 on his back is my roommate. The guy I share a shower with and who has his grandmother’s chicken soup in the fridge. The guy who doesn’t seem to realize he’s insanely hot.

A song about hockey starts playing and the crowd sing along, out of tune, of course.

Alexei – or Simakov – looks up into the crowd and I swear his gaze lingers on me for a second before he looks away. I look up at Alice and she grins at me before picking her trumpet up for a rousing rendition of Highway to Hell.

I keep my eyes on Alexei while he’s on the ice, not realizing I’ve been picking at the skin around my thumb until it starts to bleed. When he jumps over the boards to sit on the bench, I try to keep my eyes on the action happening on the ice. I don’t want him to catch me staring at him.

Every time there’s a lull in the game, like there’s a penalty or something else I don’t really understand, music blears through the speakers or Alice and the band strike up a new classic rock cover and nearly blow my head off, even with the earplugs.

I glance at Alexei once again on the bench, he’s leaning against the board, teasing a mouthguard between his teeth. Something fizzles in the pit of my stomach and I look away.

I don’t know how long the game’s been going on, but it feels like forever when Alice tells me the first period’s over.

“How long is the break?”

“Fifteen minutes,” she says. “Gotta pee, watch my trumpet.”

She drops her instrument in my lap and I’m trapped with everyone brushing past me to get to the bathrooms and beer and hot dog concession while House of Pain plays in the background, then I’m pretty sure a Nickelback cover of We Will Rock You – please kill me now !

Both teams have disappeared from the ice and people seem to get excited and start banging on the glass when a big machine like a snow plough comes out.

The guy driving the snow plough honks his horn and the crowd go wild.

Huh. Watching a guy drive a snow plough to cheering crowds and Crazy Train wasn't on my bingo card for tonight, but I’m learning something new every day.

When the players start coming back onto the ice, my heartrate picks up again. I’m zoned in, looking for number 18 when Alice leans in close to my ear and says “boo!”

I jump, nearly dropping her trumpet.

“Distracted were we?”

“What? I was just wondering where that snow plough went.”

“Snow plough? Are you taking about the Zamboni?”

Before I can ask her what the hell she just said, she’s called back to announce the start of the next period with some tune I don’t recognize. The second I see Alexei skate out onto the ice, my face floods with heat.

I actually try my best to follow the game in the second period.

It would be nice to know what’s going on and maybe I can even have a semi-intelligent conversation about it later with Alexei.

Taking an interest in my roommate’s sport is just good manners.

It has nothing to do with how insanely hot he looks in that jersey.

It’s not easy to follow a tiny black disc when there are giant guys clambering over it and speeding down the ice at god knows what speed.

I only know someone’s scored a goal when the crowd around me go crazy.

People near the front start banging on the plexiglass like cavemen.

But that’s nothing compared to the guy who scored skating right up to it and bashing his body against it, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

He skates backwards and looks up into the crowd with rosy cheeks and sweat dripping down his face.

This time he definitely locks eyes with me and smiles. Alexei.

Alice scares the crap out of me when she and the band start belting out We Are the Champions right next to my ear. Thankfully, it snaps me out whatever trance I was in.

Our team score another goal, someone I don’t know scores this one and I calm down by the end of the period.

Watching Alexei out there, I never thought hockey could be graceful.

But he’s a really talented skater. I’ve only ever been ice skating a handful of times and I could barely stay on my feet.

But they just run straight onto the ice and then keep running.

Skating backwards, being tackled, going down on their knees and coming back up in one swift movement. It’s mesmerizing.

In the second break, Alice sits next to me and sips some water, her trumpet resting across her legs.

“So… how are you enjoying the game? We make a puck bunny out of you yet?”

“A what?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

I don’t notice the team coming back onto the ice until I’m mid-laugh at Alice dancing to some 90s techno song and my gaze locks on Alexei’s. Was he watching us? Alice waves before I can stop her and he waves back. I pinch her and she squeals.

“What?”

“Stop it.”

When the game’s over, I hang back with Alice, waiting for her to pack her trumpet up and say goodbye to the brass and percussion sections.

I don’t expect to see Alexei until we’re back at home later, maybe not even then.

The team won, so maybe he’ll go out to celebrate?

Bring a girl home even though he said he never does that?

My heart sinks at the prospect of hearing him have sex with some girl he picked up at a bar.